Goodbye
by detective ink
Summary: Dean & Sam make tough decisions when faced with all their controversies. Set mid season 5. Semi AU - language warning!


"Don't say it."

"Why? There's no reason for this shit anymore."

A pause. A moment he uses to reason with his demons. His head shakes.

"It's not gonna happen any other way."

"What does that even mean, Dean?"

A subtle turn of his head, a sad expression and the older of the two sighs in resigned exhaustion.

"It means what's meant to happen is obviously gonna happen, Sammy."

"No. No. I won't say yes. I won't give in. I can't. And you can't either."

Sam adjusts his position in the old motel room, the smell of mold and beer snaking its way throughout his consciousness. He wants to scream, to shake Dean out of this depressed reverie and keep moving forward. Keep fighting.

"Michael is gonna get me. Lucifer is _definitely_ gonna get you. Maybe...maybe it's time, man."

He stares at his younger brother. What else can he do at this point? They've lost everyone. Castiel fell not even a week ago. Fell for good.

"'s too much Sam. We've got nothing anymore. Ellen, Jo and Cas are gone. Bobby's not even there anymore with the hunt. Hell I'd go as far as to say he is gone already. It's just too much Sammy."

An explosion of emotion and the room seems two sizes too small.

"You're fuckin' quitting now? You went to HELL to save me and now you just want to give up? To walk away and leave with a 'see ya in five years for judgment day, bro?' Fuck you Dean."

"Fuck YOU man."

He has to laugh. His cheeks break with a smile that hasn't creased his skin in over a year, but it's not an angry, indignant smile; not even a sarcastic grin he would normally give in a tense situation like this. Not that he's ever lived through something quite like this. It's a sad, "crying might be better" smile. Rare does this feeling strike him, and that's what finally does it.

He swallows the regretful lump of pain in his throat and grabs his bag. The duffel full of his belongings.

"Goodbye Sam. I...Ya know I didn't wanna..."

His voice breaks and Sam knows the war that's raging in his older brother's heart. But he won't let him leave. Not without losing this battle first.

He reaches his long arm out just in time to catch the sleeve of Dean's jacket. He pulls back. Hard. Dean stumbles, drops the military-green sack and turns to face Sam. He's not pissed. He's not frustrated. He's done. Just done. Finished.

"Mmm?" Eyebrows raised in question.

It, a simple sound to break the awkward silence and staring; Sam still holds tight to the fabric in his palm.

"Let go."

"No."

"Dammit Sammy, just let me the fuck go. We both know how it ends. It's better to be apart so it's-"

"Don't you dare say it'll be easier! Who the fuck says ANY of this has been easy on _ANY_ of us?"

"Us who? It's just you and me left now. And when I caught that glimpse into the good ol' future, we lost. Big time. And I can't be...who I am now if that's gonna happen."

"So you're running when you know it won't do anything but drive us to that day? To me as Lucifer- the damn DEVIL? I'm set to kill you – as him – in the future if that happens, Dean. Kill you."

His voice was unsettled, the hurt apparent and bleeding out like an open stab wound.

Sam leans back slightly.

"You won't ever say yes, will you? Even if it meant saving the entire fuckin' planet?" Sam's voice is quiet and full of...something. Anger, bitterness but also realization.

Dean looks down to see the hand that is still grasping his coat.

"No. I won't."

Silence.

Dean: "Let me go."

Sam frowns. He sighs and a single tear falls down his heated skin. Somewhere inside, he knows this is it. This is the reason all of Heaven and all the angels foretold of his "yes." It's because of Dean's choice that he knows what will happen.

"Maybe the future tells of my _yes_ because of your running right now – you're the catalyst."

There it was. The one comment Dean didn't want to hear. The one comment he considered over and over and over.

"No, Sam. No."

He makes it to the door and closes his eyes. This life has been one scary, sad chapter after another, and ending the only good thing in his story is like taking a knife to the gut: it's physically killing him.

But it's done; 2014 will happen, no matter if they stay and fight side by side. Croatoan virus. The whole nine.

"You did this. Just remember th-that," Sam says, the words breaking towards the end of his statement.

Dean nods in agreement. He knows this is what hell on Earth feels like now, but he ignores the ache in his heart and turns away.

"Goodbye, bro," he whispers, a wishing part of himself hoping Sam tries to stop him once more.

Sam doesn't. He stands in the door frame, his face covered in shadows and an eerie, visible transformation is already underway. He pauses, then steps forward and waits for the remainder of his gear.

The contents in the trunk, back and front seats of the Impala are split in two, half to Sam, half to Dean, with not a single word spoken during the exchange. Not so much as momentary eye contact.

Dean slides onto the leather of his driver's seat and turns the engine over with its antique key. The rear view mirror shows the motel door is closed, and silently, he drives away.

It's over. It's over. It's over.

Or so he tells himself.


End file.
